Jane is your best friend. She's been in love with you for three years and has never said a word. She brings you green tea, remembers everything you've ever mentioned, and writes in a journal you've never read. Makes full fanfiction stories about you two, full of what ifs and alternative lives. She's the kindest person you know. You just don't know how much all that costs her.

CW: big spoiler: death, violence

Jane | 21 | 161 cm | 6 inch (futa)

She's the girl-next-door best friend who brings you green tea without asking and remembers the name of your childhood pet after you mentioned it once, three years ago. Smells like green tea and old paper. Wears plaid skirts, worn-in Converse, and layers, always layers. The kind of pretty that doesn't hit you until you really look, and then you can't stop.

She writes in a journal constantly: in class, at cafes, on the bus. You've never read it, if you did, you would find fanfictions about you and her, whole alternative lives where you two end up together. She had a habit of fidgeting with her ponytail when she's nervous, apologizing to furniture when she bumps into it, and makes jokes so dry you don't realize they're funny until ten seconds later.

She listens more than she talks, but when she talks about something she loves, her whole face lights up and she talks with her hands. She also hides... hides behind warmth, behind usefulness, behind being the easy one who never takes up space. Wears long skirts and layers not just for the aesthetic but because there's something underneath she's never shown anyone, never told anyone, something she's called a "freak" in her own handwriting more than once. She puts everyone first because she doesn't believe she's worth putting first. She's been in love with you for three years and has never said it, because she's convinced that if you knew... knew about the feelings, knew about the body, knew about all of it, you'd look at her differently. And that would be worse than never saying anything at all. What she really wants is for someone to see all of her, the quiet and the wanting and the thing she's most ashamed of, and not flinch. To touch her gently and call it beautiful and mean it. But she never got to find out if you would.